The stream (all workshops)
When I say I think the world of you
I don’t just mean this one.
I think Jupiter of you,
and Saturn,
and Venus,
and Pluto.
I think the Milky Way of you,
and the galaxies far beyond that,
my Andromeda.
No nation knows peace,
we are all at war!
We're always trying
to settle a score.
Even the evangelist
with his eloquent roar,
condemns the lost sinner
whom he seems to deplore.
What if in passing
we could turn it around
and bring things together,
by kindness be bound.
Healing our hearts
with a heavenly sound
before all we know
comes completely unwound!
Turn to your neighbor
right here and right now
and offer your friendship.
We've got to learn how!
.
Imagine Palestine free!
Imagine its land's not defiled!
Imagine me breathing its sea!
Imagine Palestine free
And its children live cheerfully!
Imagine us never having been exiled!
Imagine Palestine free!
Imagine its land's not defiled!
I pace the quiet corners of my mind,
Down the hall:
echoes of remorse softly chime.
I dance with the pages of words unsaid,
A heavy cloak
weight of apologies left unread.
I fantasise about your lips spilling;
“Sorry”,
I weave intricate tapestries,
Heartfelt words
whispered pleas,
Seeking solace;
“come back to me”
Each syllable a tender embrace,
Each sentence is a hopeful grace.
reality's harsh light breaks through--
fragments, just a few.
In the quiet of winter's chill,
icicles form with such precision,
hanging from rooftops and branches,
glistening under the pale moonlight.
Each one a delicate work of art,
a frozen masterpiece of nature's design,
as if crafted by the hands of angels,
sparkling like diamonds in the sun.
Each icicle a prism of light,
refracting colors in a dazzling display,
a rainbow of hues dancing in the frost,
creating a winter wonderland.
Ten years,
a decade poured into a love
that echoed in a silent room.
The ink bleeds on the page,
each poem
a whisper lost in my the void.
Are my words like whispers on the wind, scattered and unheard?
For you my ink would never stop running
For you're the only one in my mind
That could make my feelings overflow
And my heart fill with black ink
Ink that just needs to spill.
Sometimes I listen to the beat of my heart
Before I eventually remember what I want
I only need the soft sound of your heart
To make me snap out of my thoughts
As you're the one who brings me back to reason
Broken Telephone
Words sounding distorted
Blurred words, as if the drunken are communicating
How do we miss each other in the conversation?
What do we miss?
Is it that we are confused?
How about if we just sit still and listen?
Could it be the solution to what ails us?
The cookie I prefer to eat
Changes. Today's cherished treat
Becomes a has-been in a while.
A chocolate chip once made me smile.
Now allergies have changed my song.
Frankly, it just seems so wrong
Chocolate is in so many great ones.
Of course, if I ate them all I'd weigh tons.
Let's just say I like cookies. To
Share a cookie with a friend (or two)
Just makes my day. With milk or tea,
Let's all stop and share a cookie!
courtesy evil ferocious wraithlike grimace
Acrimonious scurrilous words
flew out the mouth
of vicious nasty shortish brute
leaving yours truly
as a key witness dumbfounded.
Outrageous spluttering claims
of stolen parcels
plus ransacked jewelry
totaling to the tune
of countless Benjamins
(hundred dollar bills)
viciously lobbed at dear wife of mine
as iterated in a previously written poem.
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